A nickel and a smile
by LethoBion
Summary: INCREDIBLY LATE AND APOLOGETIC birthday fanfiction for Smartkitty314 inspired by the song 'Dream With Me' by Automatic Loveletter. "Lark? Unique name.""You're one to talk, Mr. Ignatius.""Ha. Touche. But call me Ace."Rated T for minor language.


**Sorry, what with schoolwork and term end, I haven't been able to find the time to finish anything. Getting a brand new shiny PS3 doesn't help either.**

**I thought I might be able to get on with Laws of Nature during spring break, but I guess I've spent it all on this. I hope Kitty likes it. It was either this or a songfic I wrote early March. I might be uploading that too for the hell of it.**

**So here goes, This is a fictional AU. I might have made the character slightly too OOC, but I hope you don't mind. **

**EDIT: I'm SO sorry. Typing this up took way longer than I expected, and I know this is more than a week late; I'm so sorry! I still hope you like it!**

* * *

My eyes darted around the gum-dotted, dirty subway at the average people going about their business. Broke highschool students, some guys out on a rugby night, a few couples on dates, etcetera. I trained in on a businesswoman a few feet ahead of me. She was holding her purse quite loosely, evidently engrossed in a heated argument with someone over the phone. I considered her well-dressed appearance for a moment, then decided against it. She had a loose grip on her purse, but it was a grip nonetheless. She'd notice the absence. Causing a scene wasn't my style.

"Watch where you're going, you moron!"

I turned my head as an obnoxiously loud shout filled my ears.

Ah, here we go. Middle-aged prick in a freshly pressed suit with his wallet sticking out of his pretty pocket. Too easy.

I glided towards my target, almost invisible, then lightly bumped into him like I've done a hundred times before.

With, of course, his fat wallet tucked securely into my hoodie pocket.

"Watch it, kid! Geez, do teenagers have no manners?"

I flashed his a sickly sweet, apologetic smile. "Sorry, mister."

He scowled at me and hurried up the escalator. The wallet was pretty hefty. One hell of a catch, if I do say so myself. Now to get out of there. I heard an anguished cry of surprise as I slipped onto the subway. A faint 'My wallet!' reached my ears as the door closed.

Welcome to New York, asshole.

I smiled lightly and looked around for a new target. Subways were so much easier; you could just nab a catch as you push through to exit. I was a pro. Why wouldn't I be? I did it everyday. It was a life of crime, but I didn't particularly care. The world was full of garbage. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive.

My eyes landed on a guy with his back to me. He had a formal black vest over a white shirt with unbuttoned cuffs, slightly rumpled black pants; a lawyer on his day off, maybe? I didn't see a wallet, though, and no tell-tale bulge was to be found on his pants.

,,,,,,Okay, that probably came out wrong. But whatever.

He turned around as the announcements declared our proximity to the next station. I would have hurried to find another victim if the guy hadn't turned around. Our eyes met, and my breath screeched to a halt.

The guy was in his late twenties, with short, windswept black hair. Judging by his expression, he was clearly irritated by something, but that wasn't what made me stop.

It was his eyes. Aside from being narrowed in annoyance, the irises were bright red. Bright, crimson, impossibly blood red.

I stared, my jaw on the floor. It was probably rude, but my mind was blank.

He scowled at me, but it was sort of a casual scowl. Apparently he was used to people staring. He walked towards the doors, and I couldn't stop staring. The way he held himself was sort of regal, pompous yet casual. He had one hell of a presence.

I continued to stare as the subway doors closed behind his back. Then I scowled as I snapped out of it.

Damnit, I missed my stop.

* * *

Contrary to the popular stereotype, I did not live on the streets. I was not an orphan, and I did not have a heartbreaking story worthy of tears and sympathy.

I lived in a small house across from the public library. I lived with my mother, my hard-working librarian mother.

As for my story….. Well. It's usually described as pathetic.

I climbed my porch steps, still annoyed by the fact that I had to get off the train and ride one stop back.

I placed my hand on the doorknob and sighed. Here we go.

"I'm home," I called as I closed the door behind me.

Mom looked up from her newspaper to glare at me. I sighed. That glare was the only reason she ever acknowledged my presence. She liked to pretend I didn't exist.

I looked at her sadly. "Just thought you'd like to know."

She returned to whatever she was reading.

I dragged myself down the hallway and into my room. I shut the door and collapsed on it. Sliding down into a sitting position, I cradled my head in my arms an sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time.

No, my mother was not a bad parent. She wasn't a bad person either; quite the opposite. That woman was moral, strong, diligent, honest, open-minded, and sometimes incredibly stubborn.

Everything I wasn't, minus the stubborn thing.

The reason she hated me was me, myself and I. Dropout, pickpocket, and thief extraordinaire, yours truly. A sarcastic outcast who doesn't give a damn for right and wrong. Me, moi, minua, watashi, wo, na, mnie…….. I could say it in a thousand different languages, and it would still mean the same thing. Nothing will change the fact that it was me who chose this life, to resort to thievery. I was me who decided to drop out of college because I couldn't handle the social consequences of what my dad did.

Life sucks when your dad turns out to be a felon on the run from feds.

I sighed and pulled out the wallets I'd taken. Two from the morning rush hour, and on from the prick on the way home. Ignoring the credit cards, I took out all the bills and counted them.

Two hundred fifty-six in total. Not bad for half a day.

I stuffed the fifty-six in my pocket and stood up with the two hundred.

I wasn't like other aimless pickpockets; I didn't spend all my money right away on stupid things. I saved all the money I could spare. Not for my own place, but for a ticket out of this hellhole. Not for me, of course. For my mom. Everyone in this neighborhood knew about the incident with my dad. I wasn't the only one suffering from the society of the community. My mom, unlike me, was strong enough to brave it. But she didn't deserve it. She deserved to get out of here, to get a fresh new start. And since there was no justice in this world, I had to do it myself. As naive as it sounds, that was my plan. Get her a better life then get the hell out of it. Despite her well-placed hate for me, I still loved her. She was the only family I had left in this godforsaken place.

I closed my cheap four-digit safe and shoved it back under my bed. Now to get rid of the wallets.

I contemplated before I opened the door. I hadn't had lunch yet. Maybe I could hit a proper restaurant today?

I shook my head. No, I didn't really need a hot meal. Time to hit the Subway down at the station, as usual.

* * *

Oh yeah, pun not intended.

* * *

I thought about where to 'drop' the next wallet when I bashed into a wall.

And I say 'wall' instead of the more probable 'person' in this crowded station because while I was knocked backwards, the said object in front of me didn't even wobble.

Needless to say, I landed on my ass, dazed. I blinked a few times to clear the stars and looked up at whatever I hit.

I flinched as a pair of crimson eyes stared down at me. Shocked, I dropped my jaw again. It was him.

He frowned. "Watch where you're going, kid."

What, no 'sorry' or 'you okay?' Thanks, jerkwad.

But what the hell. I was in New York.

"Sorry," I said, putting on my abashed face. I tried to stand up and faked a slip as I crashed into him once more. This time, I managed to locate his wallet.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed again, his wallet in my sleeve.

He'd grabbed my shoulders when I fell, and helped me steady myself.

Whoa, talk about a strong grip.

He narrowed his eyes and seemed to be considering me for a moment. I stared back, trying to pull off my apologetic act. And failing, incidentally. His eyes were.... I never imagined I would ever use this word, but they were captivating. Not in the crummy, dramatically romantic kind of way, but kinda like how you would stare at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing your face, being intrigued by every little thing that you didn't know about yourself. I ruled off his eyes as scary and blood red, but up close, I felt different. Yes, they still resonated charisma and strength, but they held this kind of vulnerability. This sadness in the background, a feeling of despair that nearly covered his atmosphere. The grumpiness, albeit genuine, was just a cover for the grief he had buried deep under his tough facade.

I blinked. What was I thinking? How could I so much about a stranger just from his eyes? Was I going delusional from not having a proper conversation with anyone in two full years? How was I so sure that he was like that? And why was it so familiar?

Confusion almost got me, but I returned to reality as he let me go.

"Don't worry about it."

I blinked as he turned away. What was that all about? He looked at me like.. I didn't know. Not until, a few feet away, he glanced at me over his shoulder.

It was compassion and sympathy. Two things I haven't seen directed at me in ages. Two things I never expected to see again. I was stunned.

Even more so when he smiled at me. He smiled a small, almost sad smile, with 'good luck' written in his eyes.

I felt warm and fuzzy inside as I smiled back, silently saying 'thank you.' That was the first human connection I'd made since so long.

He turned away, and my smile faltered. I dropped a large f-bomb as I remembered what wasn't in his pocket anymore.

Fuzzy time over.

* * *

I sat on my bed, playing with his wallet. What to do? I didn't mean to steal his wallet. Well, yes, I did, but that was before he smiled at me. I didn't want to tarnish that, maybe I should return it?

I sighed and calmed myself. What was I thinking? Returning a wallet because I didn't want to tarnish a moment that I probably conjured up in my head? Because I didn't want to upset this random stranger? Whatever happened to 'doing what you gotta do?' What happened to me, arrogant, the-world-can-rot-for-all-I-care, me?

No, I didn't care. Never have, never will.

So _why_ was my long-absent conscience nagging on me _now_?

Sighing, I opened the wallet. Return it or not, I was going to have to take a look.

The first thing visible was a transit pass. Guess he was a guy who needed to get around a lot. curious, I pulled out all the cards.

"Not a business guy, huh?" I murmured, noticing the absence of business cards. One Costco membership, one Safeway membership, two credit cards, a driver's license and some red card with black writing. I looked at the license first.

The man in the picture was clean-shaven and much younger, but it was him alright.

"Ignatius Black....?"

What kind of name was that? Must've caused him a lot of grief when he was younger. I wondered what he did for a living.  
I scrutinized the red card with the black writing. It read: "if found, please return to Talon heights, A504 on Maine and 16th."  
Well, that helps. Indecision for the win.  
I casually peered into the money pocket and nearly dropped it in shock.  
"Holy sh-!" I hissed involuntarily before I could stop myself.  
Who the hell carried around a few thousand dollars in cash? What kind of idiot was this guy? He was living in a city crawling with people like me who were more than willing to take his money without a second glance.  
I closed it and sighed. There was too much information getting thrown at me. I needed to clear my head. I hadn't been that confused since Dad got arrested.  
I shoved the black lump of leather and cash into my pocket and swung myself off my bed. For now, it was time to get back to work.  
I closed my bedroom door behind me and walked past the living room door when my mother called me.  
"Wait."  
I froze. I hadn't heard her voice in two years. I looked at her, not glaring at me for once, sitting at the dining table.  
"Sit down."  
I obeyed, scared for some unknown reason. She was finally talking to me. What did I have to be afraid of?  
"You know that it's been two years now since that incident."  
I looked down. I hated when she had that intense stare trained on me. It made me squirm.  
"For two full years, you've abandoned society and lived by thieving."  
That's all I am, mom. A thief with no future.  
"It's time you got out of this mess. You need to stop running away, and face reality. You can't keep this up forever."  
It was true. Those words were the very ones I'd been avoiding for so long. They hit me hard, and I struggled to hold back tears.  
"If you need money, then just say so. You're getting back up on your feet, whether you like it or not."  
Did I want to get back on my feet? Yes. Did I deserve it, or was it even possible? Hell no.  
"I suggest you get back to college."  
Like a good little girl? One problem, I'm too much of a coward to face society.  
"Look, I can't baby you forever. Stop this ridiculous temper tantrum; you can't throw away your life because you're too afraid!"  
I stood up abruptly. She was right. Everything she said was right. But to go back to society? What would I say when people inevitably ask what the two year lapse in my education was for? Pickpocketing and theft. Oh yeah, that would make a great addition to my resume. It was too late for me. I'd gone too far to go back.  
"I'm sorry."  
And with that, I was out the door, with no idea whatsoever of where I was headed.

* * *

"Detective Black?"  
I continued to stare at my gun, thinking. I'd met another lost soul today, down at the station. Like Aerrow and company, the kids that I'd beat some sense into. But that kid....somehow, she was different. I didn't know why, but she was different from the vulnerable kids that I seemed to counsel more than a regular teen counsellor did. The was something knowing about the way she smiled back at me.  
Who was she?  
"Detective Black, did you hear a word of what I just said?"  
"Yes, Starling. No new leads, guy in Int. won't say a word, And I'm to report to duty at 7 in the morning. Does that sum it up?"  
"...Yes."  
I could imagine her baffled expression over the phone line. It irritated me, along with a lot of other things. Why did people assume that I was a lazy, aloof guy who didn't know how to do my job?  
"Any questions, Agent Starling?" I asked, wanting to hang up on my new, condescending MI6 partner.  
"Just one irrelevant question. Why do people call you Ace?"  
I sighed. I'd heard that question at least a dozen times.  
"Ignatius became Ignace, then became Ace. Anything else?"  
"No. Good night."  
She hung up, and I sighed in relief. Yes, she was a brilliant mind, a true ace, star agent of the MI6 at the prodigal age of 22, but to be honest? The precinct might as well have shoved me in a box and thrown me into the Atlantic. Working with her made me feel suffocated and claustrophobic.

I put my phone down and headed for the fridge. The original plan for tonight was just to order the usual pizza, but I had some leftover vegetables that I needed to eat before another grocery trip. Besides, that pasta was getting bored of sitting in the pantry. I hadn't cooked in a while. Wonder if I still had the Al dente touch?

I poured water into a small pot and was about to put it on the stove when I heard my front door opening and closing. I tensed, my five years of cop training kicking in. This wasn't a random visit from an ordinary thief or a syndicate lackey. No, whoever got in was an elite capable of bypassing the latest security system. He or she was here with a very specific purpose, or target, if the big bosses decided I was too sharp a thorn in their sides for far too long.

I pressed myself against the wall of my strategically built apartment, puling my gun out of its holster. Harrier always called me paranoid for keeping my holster on at home; well, score one for me, you cocky bastard.

The wet footsteps squeaked to the middle of the living room, then stopped. I approximated my visitor's locations from the direction of the sound .

Lord save me, let's hope I don't get shot.

"Freeze!"

I jumped out from behind the wall, gun pointed at the intruder. She had her hands up, and instinct for most civilians. Her clothes and hair were soaked and ripping from the pouring rain outside. I looked at the pale, shocked face with plastered hair and recognition dawned. It was the kid from the subway.

"You!"

I lowered my gun, shocked. She looked away, as if she was ashamed. A normal cop would have considered the implications on this girl being related to my current case, but I dismissed those right away. She was just another unfortunate one like me who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I did have one question.

"How'd you get in here, kid?"

She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I picked the lock." Then she seemed to stop herself and looked at her feet again.

Thank you, little miss sarcastic, but I was talking about the security system that was government approved and issued to all officers a little over six months ago.

"You know what I mean. How did you get by the security?"

She hesitated on this one. Giving me one fleeting glance before looking at her feet again, she said, "I... I took a geeky major before I dropped out. I was in the class that helped design the thing."

Well, I guess there's more to this pickpocket than sticky-fingers and sarcasm. I shoved my gun back into the holster and sighed. The poor kid probably got a good scare from the prospect of almost getting shot. She looked like something halfway between a drowned rat and a little kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. There was eyeliner smears on her sleeves, and a trace of black smudges near her eyes. I guessed the rain washed away her people repellent. I knew the type; girls who wore dark makeup to keep people away.

I ran my hand through my hair, while she still refused to look at me.

"Why are you here, kid?"

She threw something at me, and I caught it. It was my wallet.

"Sorry," she said.

I was baffled. I knew she was the one who stole it, but I wasn't expecting it back. There were two grand in there. Why the hell would she come all the way through the rain to give it back?

"Why?" I asked.

"I....," She sighed, as if she didn't know what to say. "You looked like you've been through a lot. I figured you didn't need the extra grief."

Then I knew what was so different about this girl. Aerrow and the other kids were just surprised by the fact that I understood, and I sent them on the right way and let them be. They look to me as a guardian and a friend they can count on to help in times of trouble. A sort of unbeatable pillar. Or so says Piper. But I was far from that.  
This kid... saw that. Saw me as the vulnerable, sad little boy who was betrayed by the closest thing I had to a father. She saw right through my frown, right into what's been killing me slowly over the years. The sadness and solitude I had to endure.  
Because she was just like me. Defeated and alone.  
"Thanks."  
She looked up at me, surprised. You would've thought no one had said thanks to her in a long time.  
If there's one thing I learned from boss, then it's the fact that simple compassion goes a long way. All it takes is a smile to revive a long dead conscience, then bam. They're on their way to redeeming themselves. As fickle and corruptible humans may be, God made us all weak to things like kindness.  
I saw her shiver a little bit, and realized that she must be freezing. How inconsiderate of me.  
I pointed to the hallway. "Bathroom's in the first left door. Go dry yourself before you catch a cold."  
She looked at me uncertainly, then complied. I returned to the kitchen, thinking about the chances that I would meet another wandering ghost in this world.  
I was about to chop up mushrooms when the kid cleared her throat. I looked over my shoulder and saw her standing there, wearing a hoodie and some baggy jeans. My old clothes from a few years back. She still looked uncomfortable and uncertain.  
"Where do I put these?"  
"Just throw them on the sofa there."  
"But they're soaking wet."  
"I don't really care. It was my ex's sofa."  
I could almost hear her raise her eyebrow as I chopped some onions.  
"You were married?"  
"No, ex-fiancée."  
She made no reply. all I heard was the splat of wet clothes against fabric.  
Silence ensued as I continued the chopping.  
"Are you gonna give me a hand, or what? Free dinner if you make yourself useful."  
"I don't really-"  
I heard a large growl and a large f-bomb getting dropped. I laughed. How long had it been since anything made me laugh?  
"I think your stomach protests to whatever you were going to say. Chop the olives while I open the sauce."  
She came over and did so. The rest of the cooking procedure was mostly silent. I noticed that she was deliberately staying in my sight, as if she wanted to prove to me that she was going to behave, whatever that meant. I smiled. I knew the feeling of wanting to be honest and good.  
"So, kid," I started, finally putting the pot on the stove. "What's your name?"  
I could hear her open her mouth and let out nothing but a sigh. Her hands stopped dicing the veggies.  
"Look, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I won't push it."  
Silence ensued again. I poured in the mushrooms to stir-fry them a bit.  
"Lark."  
"What?"  
"My name. It's Lark."  
I snorted, amused. "Unique."  
"You're one to talk, Mr. Ignatius Black."

I laughed. I liked this kid. "Touché, Lark. Alright, gimme those. Time to put it all together. And get some water boiling, will you?"  
She handed me the chopped ingredients and went off to find a pot. I dropped them all in, adding the tomato sauce.  
"And no more of that Mr. Ignatius crap. Call me Ace."  
She raised an eyebrow as she got the stove going. "Quite the pretentious nickname, don't you think?"  
"Maybe. But it was given to me by someone I look up to, so I try to keep it around."  
Silence again. I guessed that was what happened when two very unsocial people try to have a conversation. Or maybe I was the only one trying.  
The pasta turned out alright, if I don't say so myself. We sat at the table, eating - in silence- as the storm raged outside. We finished, and I was washing the dishes while she was drying them. I could tell something was on her mind, since she kept drawing in a deep breath to say something, then stop and hesitate. I let her muster up her courage for a few dishes.  
"Spit it out, kid."  
She looked at me uncertainly. I continued to wash the dishes. She sighed. God, she sighs a lot.  
"Why?"  
A simple question I'd asked Boss so many times before. I knew what she meant. She stole my wallet, broke into my house, and we were cleaning up after a shared dinner. She'd want to know why.  
"Hard to say, really. I guess it's because I was just like you. Gang lackey, pickpocket, mugger, vandalist...... I lived like shit. I abandoned everything I had because I thought they would abandon me first. I was running away, I guess. Afraid of society. Afraid that I might turn out to be a failure and shithead like my old man. I was almost done living when I got busted by this cop. Short temper, fiery redhead.. He beat some sense into me. Told me I was being a baby. Told me to stop moping about things that don't really matter and do something with my life, or I'll die regretting the fact that I didn't even try."  
I never told anyone this story before. Why now?  
"I thought he was just a crazy cop. Then, a few days later, he caught me cold and nearly dying on the street. Took me in, introduced me to his family, and gave a warm dinner and a place to stay to shake off my cold. They were so nice, I... have to admit I cried that night. I could barely remember the last time someone had shown me kindness like that."  
I turned the tap off and sighed. "Doesn't take more than loneliness to kill someone from the inside. But I learned that loneliness is just a delusion. No matter what you've done, someone, even a stranger, is always willing to help you. Your life is never your own only. You always have someone to live for."  
I dried my hands on a cloth and turned to her. "This isn't exactly a warm family dinner, but I hope you got the message."  
She dried the last dish and put it down, sighing. "Well, the message doesn't apply to me. I don't have anyone. I'm alone, no matter how I look at it."  
I faced her and smiled "Sorry, Lark, but you're looking at living proof that you're wrong."  
She looked at me, wary but reaching. She was reaching out for someone. She was in the dark and too afraid to reach out in case there was no one, and she really was alone, but now she was reaching out. Because she'd had enough with running. I could tell. I had that same wary look on my face when Boss came to me.  
I was glad to hold her reaching hand. It was time to pull her out of darkness.  
"Look, I don't know what happened to you to make you this way. And I'm not going to tell you to grow up and face reality, because it's not wrong to be afraid. But someday you're going to wake up and realize that you've got only one chance at life. And that if you look hard enough, there's always something to live for. You know, it's never too late to stand up and start living."  
Her eyes widened, as if something I said surprised her. I wasn't much of a Shakespeare, but I hoped she got the point. I hoped she took it to heart. And like with the other kids, I wished her good luck, with all the honesty I had.  
We flinched as thunder cracked outside. I went over to the window and took a look outside.  
Well, she sure as hell wouldn't be walking home tonight.  
"You have a place to stay, kid?"  
"I... I'm not welcome there anymore."  
I chuckled a bit. "I don't know what happened, but Lark," I said as I closed the curtain, "Whoever you live with is probably worried sick. They always are, no matter how bad you fought, no matter what you said to each other. Come on, I'll give you a ride."  
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.  
"You coming?"  
"I...," She hesitated, sighing yet again. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. "Yeah, I'm coming." She followed me. I opened the door with a small smile.

* * *

I stopped the car and looked at her expectantly.  
"Ace, I still don't know. What if she doesn't want me there anymore?"  
I sighed. She needed to stop worrying.  
"Okay, I'll make you a deal. I'll wait here and watch you go in. If you're clearly not welcome, then come out and we'll drive back. I'll crash on the couch while we try to find a place for you. But if you are welcome, and you most likely will be, then wave at the window and that'll be the signal for me to go home. Alright?"  
She looked down at her fidgeting fingers. "Would you really do that for me?"  
"Like I said, kid. You're not alone. Now, go on. Your mom's probably waiting for you."  
She smiled sadly at me. I smiled back.  
I was probably never going to meet her again. I probably wouldn't remember her name after a decade or so. But this was an event that would change things for the better. She would, hopefully, start living again. And me? Well. I didn't really know. But it'd been a long time since I smiled or laughed like she made me. So I guessed that was a good thing. She'd left a memory, a good memory. Something I'd carry with me for the rest of my life. I guessed that was enough for me.  
I fidgeted as another minute passed by. Despite my constant reassurances, I felt nervous for her too. Then I saw the door open and sighed.  
"Dammit."  
I got out of the car with an umbrella and ran to meet her. I had half a mind to have a word with her mother when she tackled me with a hug.  
"Thank you. For everything."  
She pulled away and smirked at my dumbfounded expression. I smirked too.  
"Do me a favour, kid. Don't let me see you in cuffs down at the precinct."  
"I won't."  
She showed me her hands. "I haven't stolen anything."  
"I know," I said, smiling now. She sure wasn't just a helpless, depressed and unreasonable kid. "I'll see you around."  
"See you."  
She turned and walked back into the house and I headed back to my car. I closed the door and saw her in the window, waving. I smiled.  
Yes, this would be a good memory.  
It doesn't take much to change someone's life. Sometimes it's a small dinner. Sometimes it's a quarter and a smile. But the point is, compassion goes a long way, more than you know.  
You've just gotta reach out to see who's willing to help.  
_  
Open your eyes,  
for once, think of each other,  
reach out!  
We've been here forever..._

-_Dream with me, Automatic Loveletter._

* * *

_Again, so sorry about the lateness. Happy Belated Birthday!_


End file.
